


this must be the place

by spraycansoul



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Coming Out, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-07-09 23:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraycansoul/pseuds/spraycansoul
Summary: Zimbits drabble dump! All stand alone ficlets, but some will also fit into some of my other fics.1: Coming out drabble (happens during the epilogue of 'safest sounds')2: Jack makes a move before graduation, and Bitty goes with it3: Bitty is just trying to watch some Sherlock, but Jack keeps getting in the way4: Jack welcomes Bitty to Camp Half-Blood5: Jack's neighbor likes to leave his front windows open when he bakes. Shirtless. All the time.6: Bitty meets Jack Zimmermann in their building's laundry room at 3 AM. It keeps happening.





	1. a thing that happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack comes out, and they stay in.
> 
> fits in somewhere during the epilogue of [safest sounds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501202/chapters/33499698).

Jack presses the button on the top right corner of his phone—the one that lets the whole world into the lovely little bubble he and Bitty had been living in for the past week or so, the one that so innocuously reads “share”, as if he’s not about to dramatically change his life and career forever by letting people in on something he’s known about himself for a long time now—and collapses right into his boyfriend’s arms, dropping his phone face down onto his chest as he leans back on his bed. He breathes deeply into Bitty’s shirt, feeling his steady heartbeat under his cheek, and forces down the rush of—anxiety? relief?—that fills his chest.

It’s early in the afternoon and they have the house to themselves, Bob out playing golf with some old NHL buddies and Alicia running errands for a charity event next week. They had settled back into bed after breakfast, armed with a respectable stash of junk food that has now been significantly depleted as they took turns picking what to watch on Netflix. It seemed like any other day in his parents’ home, except, of course, with the added bonus of waking up to his best friend peppering small kisses on his cheeks. 

There’s also the glaring fact that today’s date had been marked in his phone’s calendar for about two weeks now, with months of planning leading up to it, all of which could only prepare him for so much.

“So,” Jack says eventually, turning his head to look right up at Bitty, who seemed to have been watching him carefully as he tried to gather his thoughts. “That’s a thing that happened.”

Bitty lets out a small laugh, gently carding a hand through Jack’s hair. “Oh, that’s definitely a thing that happened, sweetpea,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

As if on cue, Bitty’s phone starts vibrating violently on the bedside table. Jack’s own phone starts up shortly after, causing him to frown, and Bitty laughs again, leaning down to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead before easing out of bed. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Jack tries hard to keep the pout out of his voice as he sits up on his elbow, watching as Bitty snatches his phone off the bedside table and leans over to grab Jack’s phone, too.

Bitty holds both phones up, winking at Jack. “I’ll be right back, honey,” he says, heading into Jack’s closet. He emerges moments later, hands blessedly empty, with a warm smile on his face. Jack makes grabby hands at him, and Bitty shakes his head fondly, grinning as he makes his way back to bed.

They resume their positions easily, Bitty slotting perfectly into Jack’s side. Jack takes the opportunity to press a kiss to Bitty’s temple, and Bitty responds in kind, tilting his head up so their lips can meet. Bitty’s hands come up to hold Jack’s face, and he uses them to push away slightly, just enough to make proper eye contact.

“You okay, sweetpea?”

Jack takes a shaky breath and nods slightly, leaning further down so their foreheads touch. “I love you so much, Bits,” he says, in lieu of a proper reply. He doesn’t actually know if he’s okay right now, but he knows that even if he isn’t, he will be eventually. 

Bitty’s smile spreads slowly, but it’s so wide and so beautiful that Jack knows in that moment that he could never come to regret what he just did, no matter what kind of repercussions await them. “I love you, too, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says easily. “You sure you don’t need anything?” Bitty’s eyebrows furrow adorably.

Jack smiles at him, shaking his head. “This is good,” he says, sinking back into his pillow and reaching for the remote. “Though, I would appreciate if you’d warn me that you’re about to fart next time.”

Bitty squawks at the unwarranted chirp, swatting at Jack. “Hey!”

“What?” Jack says, hands coming up to shield himself from the oncoming attack. “It’s fine, Bits, it’s natural! But yours are kinda like Lardo, eh? Silent, but deadly.”

“We’ve been drinking Coke all day!” Bitty scoffs in disbelief, expertly leveraging himself onto Jack’s lap so he sits a little bit higher. “And excuse you, Mr. Zimmermann, my farts are  _ discreet _ and  _ harmless _ —” he punctates each word with a slap to Jack’s pec and leans down for effect, “—unlike yours, which  _ stink _ !”

“Your face stinks,” Jack retorts halfheartedly, grinning.

“Your stink stinks,” Bitty insists, and then he’s moving down to kiss him again, his arms coming up around his neck, and it’s easier, then, to forget his phone, probably buried in a drawer in his closet, very likely vibrating itself to oblivion with support and criticism from every corner of the earth.


	2. normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Jack makes a move before graduation, and Bitty goes with it.

Bitty doesn’t even blink when Jack asks him if he wants to go get coffee.

He’s attempting to study at the kitchen table, trying very hard to ignore the call of the brand new pile of butter he brought home earlier that day, when Jack pokes his head into the doorway.

“Annie’s?” he says casually, his expression open and relaxed.

Bitty stands up and stretches. “Thank god. I needed rescuing,” he groans. “I hate numbers.”

Jack hums, smiling. “You don’t hate them so much when they’re measurements on a recipe.”

“Excuse you, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty whirls on him, pointing at him with a pencil. “There is no chirping in my kitchen.”

Jack rolls his eyes, turning to leave the room. “You coming or what?” he calls from the hallway.

Bitty slides the rest of his stuff into neat pile on the table, grabs his phone, and scrambles out the front door before Jack. “Race you!”

He glances back just in time to see a brief look of shock pass Jack’s features before he breaks into a run.

* * *

There’s a line when they get to Annie’s, but there’s always a line. Jack volunteers to get their drinks while Bitty goes to find them a table.

As usual, he waves off Bitty’s fiver with a wink. “C’mon, Bits, I think I’m good for it, eh?”

“Ugh. Fine.” Bitty turns away from Jack to hide his blush and pointedly ignores the swoop in his gut.

He ends up choosing a booth tucked in the back of the shop, one of the last free tables left. Jack finds him there after a few minutes, both their coffees in hand, but for some reason, he slides in right next to Bitty instead of across from him. Bitty feels the question bubble up in his throat, but Jack’s already going off about a new play he wants to try at tomorrow’s practice, and before he knows it, he’s been sucked into an analysis of their last game against Yale. He’s so glad that Jack finally feels comfortable enough with him to chatter like this, when a year ago he could barely stand to say three words in his general direction.

Later, when their coffee cups are close to empty, they fall into a natural, comfortable silence. Bitty’s just about to ask how Jack’s photography portfolio was coming together when Jack scoots closer so that their sides and thighs are touching, and suddenly, impossibly, he threads their fingers together.

His whole body freezes. “What are you doing?” he asks carefully, half-afraid of what the answer will be.

Jack takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steel himself, and squeezes his hand lightly. “Trying something.”

Bitty feels blood rush to his cheeks so quickly, he feels dizzy from it. _What?_

Seemingly oblivious to his internal panic, Jack smiles gently down at him. “Well? Is it working?”

Bitty braves a look up at Jack’s face, into his bright blue eyes. He can’t help the grin that breaks his face. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Jack laughs nervously—Bitty’s never heard that sound from him before, but he thinks he wants to hear it again— “it’s working.”

Bitty exhales, feeling the weight of the moment land squarely on his chest. “I think we should try something else.”

Jack’s frown lasts for half a second before Bitty kisses it off of him.


	3. wandering hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: _“you’re really invested in your tv show/book/etc and i don’t think you understand how much your absentminded petting is getting to me but like hell am i gonna ask you to stop”_

Hanging out in Jack’s room becomes a normal thing for Bitty’s Thursday afternoons.

It starts off innocently enough: they have both have Atley’s class last on Thursdays and they’re done by 4:30, so it only makes sense for them to make their way back to Haus together. They’ve got an hour to kill before practice starts, so they both stop at the kitchen to grab some snacks (or refill their bottle of water, in Jack’s case) and head up to Jack’s room to kill the time. They alternate choosing what to watch on Jack’s laptop, or sometimes Jack manages to chirp Bitty into actually doing some homework. Shitty occasionally joins them, when Lardo’s too busy with art stuff, but usually, it’s just Jack and Bitty.

It tapers off after what Bitty calls The Lattice Incident, when his chest suddenly felt too tight to handle at the sight of Jack covered in flour and talking about where he’ll be playing next year. He finds increasingly ridiculous excuses as to why he can’t go back to the Haus with Jack for the one hour before practice on Thursdays, avoids Jack’s questioning eyes at practice and at team dinner—just enough to get some space, but desperately trying to act like nothing’s wrong. Jack seems to take it all in stride and doesn’t push too hard, always inviting him back but gracefully (if confusedly) accepting his deflections anyway.

Until… well, until Bitty runs out of excuses.

To be fair, the situation catches him off-guard. Seconds after Atley dismisses them, like clockwork, both their phones buzz in their hands with the same text: practice has been cancelled. Hall’s wife was going into labor, and Murray was still out of town at a coaching conference. Since Bitty’s excuse of the day was that he was planning to meet with Hall to discuss some equipment issues (which Jack must have immediately recognized as a lie, because all equipment issues went straight to Lardo), the rest of his day was suddenly cleared.

Jack glances at him, eyebrows raised. “Wanna finish that one episode of Sherlock we were watching?”

Bitty frowns down at his phone, and then up at Jack. The last time they’d watched Sherlock together was four weeks ago. “You haven’t finished yet?”

Jack shrugs, and Bitty tries to convince himself that he’s imagining the slight flush that appears on his cheeks. “Thought you might want to finish it together.”

Bitty huffs a surprised laugh, too charmed and distracted that it doesn’t occur to him to come up with another excuse. “Sherlock it is!” he announces, gathering his things from his desk. He figures one afternoon can’t hurt him, or at least his annoyingly incessant crush can’t possibly get any worse.

He was very, very wrong.

They start out like they always do, both leaning on Jack’s headboard with Jack’s computer on his lap. Bitty fiddles with his phone until Jack snatches it away from him ten minutes later and sets it down on his bedside table. In a feeble attempt to get it back, Bitty reaches across Jack to grab at it, but ends up falling down as Jack blocks his movement so that his head ends up in Jack’s lap. He feels Jack’s body shake with laughter.

“Rude, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty accuses, slumping down onto the bed and, coincidentally, conveniently, resting his head on Jack’s thigh.

Jack adjusts the laptop lower on his legs and lets his hands fall on Bitty’s head. “I think rude would be texting while you’re watching a really good show. Now, shh, he’s about to give his speech.”

Bitty, for his part, tries to make himself comfortable in his position, turning so he can properly watch and trying to be as casual as possible. He might be taking advantage of the situation a little bit, but sue him; he’ll probably never get another chance like this again. He becomes hyperaware of how close he is to Jack: the fresh scent of his cologne and the smell of his detergent, and the feeling of his fingers running through his hair.

Bitty tries valiantly to focus on what’s happening, but the flashbacks are becoming increasingly complicated and Jack’s hands have started wandering down his neck, tracing patterns onto his shoulder, before returning to gently twist locks of Bitty’s hair in his fingers.

Bitty chances a look up at Jack’s face, but he’s watching the screen with rapt attention. His hands continue petting at Bitty’s head absentmindedly, and Bitty is slowly losing his sanity with how good and right it all feels.

It’s a little sadistic, how long Bitty lets Jack go on touching him like this, every little point of contact lighting up under his skin. As much as it kills him, how intimate and domestic and sweet the moment is, he can’t bring himself to stop Jack. Instead, he wilfully tamps down the urge to nuzzle further into the contact and tries his damnedest to keep his heartbeat steady—it takes most of his attention away from the fact that he can never actually have this, not in the way that he wants it. It’s towards the end of the episode when he fully turns so that he’s looking up at Jack’s face, head still pillowed on his thigh.

Jack looks at him then, with a questioning look open on his features. Bitty’s heart seizes at how soft he looks in the late afternoon light. “You okay, bud?” Jack asks softly, one finger idly tracing the side of his face.

Bitty doesn’t know what face he’s making, but it must be unusual enough for Jack to frown down at him.

“What’s the problem?” Jack asks, fingers finally stilling.

Bitty turns away from him almost petulantly. “Nothing.”

“Hey,” Jack whispers, his hand sliding down to cup Bitty’s cheek.

Bitty relents, locking eyes with Jack as he sits up, and he knows this time his expression hides nothing.

Jack smiles at him, a small little thing. It’s just enough to spur Bitty on, grabbing Jack’s hand to return it to his face. “I liked it too much,” he admits to the sheets guiltily.

“You liked what too much?” Jack asks, and Bitty looks up to see a chirpy grin playing on his lips.

Bitty sighs. “Your hands in my hair. On my neck.” Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. “My shoulder. My face.”

Jack nods solemnly, but the corners of his mouth are betraying him. “Like this?” he says, his other hand coming up to gently rest on Bitty’s face.

Bitty knows he’s teasing, knows he’s probably doing it to mess with him, but nods slowly anyway, still staring down at the bed. He’s about to come right out and say it, admit his feelings if only to push Jack away and end his own misery, when he feels Jack’s hand move again, this time landing on his chin to tilt his head upwards.

Jack’s searching his face for something—Bitty’s not sure what—but he must find it there because his expression shifts from unsure to determined. “I liked it, too.” He swipes a thumb on Bitty’s cheek. “Way too much.”

Bitty’s breath catches in his throat at the implication. Jack’s lips quirk upwards into a gentle smile, and when he moves in, it’s so slow.

“Okay?” Jack whispers, so close that Bitty feels the question on his own lips.

He’s so overwhelmed with the twisted turn of events that he relinquishes all control and closes the gap between them, sighing his agreement against Jack’s lips.

Later, Jack’s hands find their way down to Bitty’s waist, to the planes of his back, to the short hairs at his nape. Bitty’s hands start wandering, too, his lips following in their wake, lower, ever lower, until they’re both panting and giggling and gasping each other’s names in the low light of dusk.

They do finish the episode of Sherlock. Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what can i say, i love imagining them being sweet and domestic and getting together like it's the easiest thing in the world ;~;
> 
> also on tumblr [here](https://zimmerhomme.tumblr.com/post/186897458397/wandering-hands)!


	4. spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: kisses where the two characters are sparring or something and both just stop to kiss each other, then pause to wonder wtf just happened, and then drop their swords to keep kissing
> 
> Some Camp Half-Blood shenanigans, because why the hell not??

Up until recently, Jack’s only heard about the son of Apollo, this kid named Bittle, who could apparently brandish freshly baked pies out of thin air _and_ was also skilled enough in combat to fight off a horde of _empousai_ by himself on his way to Camp. He couldn’t help but find some dissonance in that—what kind of person had time for both? Especially in this lifestyle—constantly hunted by monsters, constantly training to be better, constantly in danger.

After finally meeting him, Jack thinks he should have known better than to succumb to stereotypes. First impressions tended to fail him, anyway. Especially in this lifestyle.

Up close like this, peering down at him through space in between their swords, Bittle looks—determined. He looks like he’s hungry. His dark brown eyes are piercing; Jack feels them almost daring him to make his next move.

They’ve been at this for a while. Jack had been practicing alone at the arena when Bittle arrived, looking like he belonged in the patch of sunlight he stood in, and challenged him to spar. Jack was annoyed that he had been interrupted, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenger, especially a newcomer. He had started off lax, loose, deflecting more than striking, but Bittle quickly became more physical with his blows. It became obvious that the Apollo kid was faster, much lighter on his feet, and very talented with his sword. Jack had tried to disarm him a few times, but he hasn’t yet been successful.

It’s almost like a dance, the way they’re moving—Jack’s not sure he’s ever met a more perfect match in a sparring partner. Bittle’s moves are so graceful, it’s almost distracting, and the strength of his blows keep catching him off-guard. Jack starts to feel the burn in his arms and his core from exertion.

After a few minutes of back and forth, Jack sees an opening in Bitty’s stance, a vulnerability to disarm him. He feints forward, sending Bittle staggering backward slightly, only to gracefully tumble back onto his feet. The corner of Bittle’s mouth quirks up, mocking him. Jack grips his sword tighter, ready to attack again, when Bittle angles his sword just so, reflecting the sunlight up and into Jack’s eyes. He’s blinded for a second, and the next thing he knows, Bittle has him pinned the ground with his own sword at his throat.

“Impressive,” Jack manages to choke out. Maybe everyone was right. Small but terrible, cute and hot—wait, _what_?

“Shut up.” Bittle says sharply.

Jack’s clever retort dies in the back of his throat when he suddenly feels Bittle’s lips on his.

Jack manages to kiss back for a few confusing, glorious moments before Bittle pulls away, staring at him with those stupid wide eyes and maddeningly red lips.

Jack cracks a smile at how ubsurd this first meeting has gone. Absurd, but certainly not unwelcome. “Impressive,” he says again, this time in a low rasp.

He sees the exact moment Bittle’s eyes darken with desire, catalogues the way Bittle’s mouth spreads into a smile that’s entirely too big for his face, notices barely that Bittle’s finally dropped their swords, before Bittle ducks down and they’re kissing again.

Bittle fights dirty, but his kiss is utterly filthy, all teeth and tongue and dragging lips. Jack can’t get enough of it, presses in hard to taste more. The kiss quickly turns heated as Bittle straddles him on the ground. Jack sits up so that Bittle is in his lap, his hands on Bittle’s back for support, feeling the way that his muscles shift under his t-shirt. Bittle has both of his hands on Jack’s face, paying extra special attention to Jack’s lips and how they pucker, when they both hear a distant clatter from the armory.

They pull apart hesitantly, and it dawns on Jack that’s he’s been making out with a practical stranger in the arena, where anyone could walk in at any moment. He shifts slightly and Bittle gets the message, gracefully climbing off of Jack’s lap and offering a hand to help him up. Jack takes it.

“I’m Jack,” he blurts out, realizing he never introduced himself. “Jack Zimmermann. Son of Zeus.”

Bittle laughs, a high musical sound that Jack definitely wants to hear again. “I know who you are, Zimmermann. You’re pretty hard to miss.”

Jack shrugs, recognizing the chirp (flirt?) for what it is. “Fair enough, Apollo.”

Bittle’s eyes widen slightly, like he’s been caught. “You know who I am?”

“You’re pretty hard to miss, too.” Jack shrugs again, enjoying the way Bittle is squirming. “Eric Bittle. Took on _empousai_ with no formal training, and won. Small, but fast. Actually very good with his sword.” He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, and enjoys the way Bittle blushes.

“Likewise,” Bittle says, looking shy for the first time.

Jack grins as he picks up both of their swords. He examines Bittle’s for a moment, flips it in the air (just for fun, certainly not to flex), before handing it back to Bittle. “Apparently,” he continues, “you can also make delicious baked goods appear out of this air, but I’ve yet to test that one.”

Bittle’s smile is so big, he’s glowing with it. “I can’t promise they’ll appear out of thin air _per se_ , but I can whip up something real quick if you follow me back to my cabin.”

In that moment, Jack became sure of exactly two things. The first was that he was certain he would follow this boy anywhere.

The second, more apparent thing, was this: boy, was he in danger.


	5. topless baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You live across the street from me and your curtains are always open and you’re usually at least half naked and I try really hard not to stare but you just caught me looking while you were wearing nothing but a towel and just smiled and waved (from falling in love with my neighbor prompts)
> 
> Read/reblog on [Tumblr](https://zimmerhomme.tumblr.com/post/621683554200453120/please-do-the-half-naked-window-prompt-with-bitty)!

Jack’s really happy about his new house. It’s in a cute little neighborhood, just a quick fifteen minute drive to the training facility, and it has a huge backyard so that Biscuit can run around as much as she wants. He has his own gym in the basement, and an office for doing schoolwork, and a kitchen that is way too nice for someone like him who can barely cook. Best of all, it has huge windows that remind him of his old condo, letting in copious amounts of natural light in every room.

It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that the guy who lives right across from him likes to putter around his kitchen in nothing but an apron most hours of the day, his wide open front windows providing Jack (and, really, any passersby) a full view of his (trim, toned, lithe _—not that Jack’s noticed_ ) figure, along with whiffs of deliciously tempting baked goods.

No, seriously. It’s not that.

Jack’s sort of acclimated to this weird...situation of his, anyway. He tries hard not to ogle his (handsome, fit, friendly) neighbor as he inexplicably bakes sans shirts. _Bitty_ , he said his name was when he introduced himself (wearing a shirt) with a welcome pie fresh out of the oven, the day after Jack first moved in. It’s been two weeks since then, and Jack hasn’t gotten another opportunity to talk to him. Which is fine, of course—while he’s pretty sure he can handle himself around attractive men in close proximity who happen to be exactly his type, he’s not sure he can say no to another heavenly pie.

Needless to say, it catches him off guard to realize that their second floor windows _also_ line up perfectly when, just a few days later, he accidentally catches a glimpse of Bitty dancing around what is probably his bedroom in nothing but a towel, skin still pink and glistening from a shower. The early morning sunlight bounces off of his blonde curls and ski-jump nose, and his face is open and joyful as he twirls around the room with surprising grace. Jack doesn’t realize he’s staring, one hand tightly clutching the remote of his blinds, until Bitty turns and their eyes meet.

And then Bitty waves at him, grinning widely. And then Bitty _winks_ at him.

Jack feels Bitty’s small gesture jolt him back to life, and he’s just able to raise a hand back in greeting before Bitty disappears back into his room. Jack’s cheeks burn—he’d definitely been caught staring.

Great. Now he probably has to hide from his across-the-street neighbor out of embarrassment for the rest of his life.

He studiously avoids his front windows for the rest of the day, keeping his blinds closed and spending the afternoon in the backyard with Biscuit instead of taking her on a walk. He figures he can try his best to ignore what had happened and hope that Bitty forgets it as soon as possible.

Jack settles down on the outdoor day bed and goes on his phone, idly watching stories on Instagram, when suddenly, inexplicably, Bitty is right there on his screen—donning only an apron and a friendly smile, and holding a beautifully latticed pie. It’s Tater who shared it on his story, adding on a couple of pie and thumbs up emojis on top of the original post from one _@toplessbaker_.

Jack clicks through, curiosity thoroughly piqued, and he finds... Bitty. Topless, and baking. The account has well over two million followers.

Well. That explains the topless baking, then.

(It doesn’t explain the ~~adorable~~ little wave earlier. Or the ~~infuriatingly hot~~ wink.)

Jack doesn’t contemplate the consequences of following him for too long, just presses his thumb to the blue button and sighs, resigning himself to a night of secretly lurking his neighbor’s Instagram page, like the coward he is. If he can’t openly stare at his ridiculously attractive neighbor in real life, he can at least do it on the Internet.

It’s just a few minutes later when his doorbell rings.

“Hi, Jack!” Bitty greets him brightly. He’s standing a little awkwardly on Jack’s porch, hands twisting behind his back, but his smile doesn’t falter.

Jack mindlessly registers that Bitty looks great even when he’s fully clothed before he forces himself back into the moment. “I’m sorry,” he blurts suddenly, cringing at himself for being so awkward. “About this morning. I, um. I really didn’t mean to stare. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Bitty’s face brightens a little, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Nonsense, Mr. Zimmermann. To be honest, I think I need to be apologizing myself.” He gives Jack a shy smile.

Jack frowns at him. “Why would you need to apologize to me?”

Bitty bites his lip, shrugging sheepishly. “You keep your front windows open when you work out. I, um. May have seen you a couple of times, too.”

Jack feels all the blood in his body rush to his face at the implication. “No need to apologize, I promise. I can close the blinds if you want—”

“No!” Bitty blurts, before slapping a hand over his mouth. “I mean, no, you don’t need to. Do. That.” A blush spreads on Bitty’s cheeks as he fiddles with his fingers. “It’s not exactly a bother.”

Bitty’s admission suddenly has Jack feeling a little bold. “Well, I don’t particularly mind that you keep your blinds open when you bake,” he admits. “Though I do think the apron is a nice touch.”

“Lord, we’re a pair, aren’t we?” Bitty says. His blush is outrageous now as he continues to hover on his front porch with a tentative smile.

Jack has the sudden realization he must’ve come around for a reason. “Oh, sorry, was there, uh, something you needed?”

Bitty laughs, shaking his head slightly. “I just... I saw that you followed me on Instagram, and as you probably saw, I just got done baking a whole pie that I can’t possibly eat by myself, so I was wondering if you... maybe wanted to come over?” He looks devastatingly hopeful. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re busy, I was just—”

“No,” Jack interrupts. “I mean, no, I’m not busy. I’d love to come over.”

Bitty positively beams at him. “Yay,” he says, turning around to lead the way. “I hope you’re hungry!”

Okay, fine. Maybe Jack liking his new house _does_ have everything to do with his (gorgeous, talented, generous) neighbor. As Bitty welcomes him into his home, cuts him a slice of his (Internet famous) cherry pie, and asks after his “adorable” dog, he hopes that this means he finally gets to see him beyond just a peek through his windows.


	6. good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we’re both always doing laundry in the building laundry room at like 3am (from falling in love with my neighbor prompts) (ETA: added a bit to the ending HAHAHA)
> 
> Read/reblog on [Tumblr](https://zimmerhomme.tumblr.com/post/621727687895040000/were-both-always-doing-laundry-in-the-building)!

The first time Bitty wandered down to the laundry room at an ungodly hour, he never expected to find anyone already there, much less Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Providence Falconers.

Of course, he’d known that Jack lived in the same building—he’d occasionally see him around the lobby or in the parking basement or by the elevators, and he’s a household name in the city and kind of hard to miss anyways, even without the hockey fame. He just never expected to find him in the laundry room at 3 AM, idly picking at a bag of Maltesers, eyes trained studiously on the screen of his laptop.

Jack had noticed him right away, light blue eyes snapping up to study Bitty. The fluorescent lights of the laundry room lit his profile in stark contrast, cheekbones jutting out, eyes sunken in like he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. He squinted at him, like he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

Bitty offered a tight smile, hiking his basket of clothes up higher. “Forgot to do your laundry, too?” He certainly had. It had been over two weeks since his last trip down to the laundry room, and he’d finally come to the point wherein he could either A) make the trip down to finally do the goddamn chore, or B) wear a pair of boxers the second time in a row. He had jolted awake after falling asleep on his couch while he was working, suddenly acutely aware that he had a very important meeting the next day and so could not afford to be wearing yesterday’s underwear.

For his part, Jack chuckles quietly, pausing whatever he was watching. “Nah, just couldn’t sleep. Figured I could at least be productive.”

Bitty gets started on his first load, glancing over at where Jack is seated on one of the machines. “What’cha watching?” He makes his way over to him once he’s deposited all his clothes.

“The Last Dance,” Jack says. He turns the laptop slightly so Bitty can see.

“Ooh! I love dancing,” Bitty says, peering down at the screen. “Is it a rom com?”

Jack laughs, a deep rumble that inexplicably makes Bitty’s chest warm. “It’s a documentary about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls.”

Bitty hoists himself up next to Jack, reaching over him to grab a piece of chocolate from his stash. “Now that sounds like false advertising.”

Jack laughs again, his brows furrowing slightly. “It really isn’t. I’ll catch you up, see…”

Bitty settles in to watch half an episode with Jack filling in the gaps, pausing when they need to load or unload. Jack finishes his laundry first, smiling sheepishly at Bitty when he has to go, and Bitty privately thinks that was a fun, if weird, experience that will probably never happen again. It would be a good story to tell at parties.

Except, two weeks later, he goes down to the laundry room to find Jack there, sorting out his clothes. “Wanna finish the episode?” he offers when he sees Bitty.

Bitty laughs, surprised. “You didn’t get to watch it?”

“Nah, I’ve been too busy.” Jack gives him a small smile as he boots up his laptop.

That’s how they end up regularly watching TV shows and movies as they both do their laundry at ass o’clock in the morning. They take turns choosing what to watch, and Bitty endures Jack’s penchant for historical documentaries just as well as Jack puts up with Bitty’s trashy rom com picks. They share snacks, too—Bitty sometimes comes down with a bag of popcorn to share, or whatever cookies or brownies he has leftover, and becomes increasingly impressed with how much candy Jack Zimmermann actually consumes, even on a strict regimented diet. (He’s delighted to find that his neighbor has an outrageous sweet tooth.)

Bitty supposes their routine is a little weird, but he also thinks they’ve sort of become friends, so he’s not really inclined to put a stop to it. He finds out that Jack has an anxiety disorder that keeps him up at night, especially nights before big games, and he copes with it by doing little things he can control, like chores. Eventually, Jack also learns that Bitty is a compulsive procrastinator who, left to his own devices, will neglect chores until they’re absolutely necessary to accomplish. Either way, the schedule works for them—Jack finds he can easily go to sleep when he comes back from the laundry room, and Bitty flops back down on his bed, finally letting himself rest knowing he’ll have clean clothes to wear the next day. Really, it’s a win-win situation.

Bitty doesn’t realize it’s turning into something more until one night (or morning), weeks later, he accidentally falls asleep on Jack’s shoulder ten minutes into _Jiro Dreams of Sushi._ He jolts awake when the washing machine beeps, suddenly aware of how close their faces are, and how Jack doesn’t seem to be moving away. In fact, Jack has one arm slung protectively around Bitty’s shoulder, and his lips are curving into a small smile, and his eyes are so sleepy and so clear and so _blue_.

“Good morning,” Jack whispers, smiling down at him. He closes his laptop gently and sets it aside before his hand comes up to brush Bitty’s bangs out of his eyes, and down to rest lightly on BItty’s cheek.

The next thing he registers are Jack’s lips on his—soft, lingering, and sweet. He kisses like a dream.

“Good morning, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty tells him, before diving back in.

“You know, we don’t have to keep meeting here like this,” Jack observes later, when the machine interrupts their makeout session. “Come over to my place tonight? I can make dinner.”

“Like a date?” Bitty asks deliriously, staring at Jack’s reddened lips.

Jack laughs, nudging their noses together. “Yes, Bitty. Exactly like a date.”

“Oh. Okay,” Bitty sighs, pressing their lips together again. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t false advertising.”


End file.
